Chemical Attraction
by CodyRhodesFan
Summary: Rewrite of 'Starvation: in Details'. Dean and Sam are trapped into Dean's diary and Sam learns about his brother's frequent obsession with starvation…but how did they end up here? WINCEST. Hurt!Dean, protective!Sam. Full summary inside.
1. About Leaving

**Originally, this was not of this version as I decided that we need more Wincest in this instead of keeping it a no-pairing sorta thing. I couldn't handle it, XD. I love my Wincest. I need my Dean submissiveness. Anyway…moving on…**

* * *

><p>Title: Chemical Attraction<br>Rated: +18 - language; darkness  
>Summary: rewrite of 'Starvation: in Details' in Wincest form. [close your eyes, let pink lips do what they were meant to do…] Dean and Sam are trapped into Dean's diary and Sam learns about his brother's frequent obsession with starvation…when he has hypoglycaemia. Question is: how did they end up there in the first place? Sub!Dean, dom!Sam, dark themes.<br>Genre: Angst

* * *

><p>Dean knows it's wrong.<p>

The frequent dizzy spells that suddenly consume him during a hunt, the horrible fast heartbeat, the sweating of his hands and he almost swears he can feel the trickling of his sweat down his neck and he stands for a second's time, leaning against a tree when Sam is out of eyeshot and he feels his heart palpitating quicker, and the gray dots appearing in clusters to almost decide his fade before disappearing as quick as rain disappears -

The rain doesn't betray.

The rain is scheduled and on time and is good.

But this isn't scheduled, nor is it on time, nor is it good right now - and he could feel the warm sensation of cutting scissors across his upper stomach, jagged, almost like a line of warm bacteria cutting through - _starvation_, followed by soft sensations of prickly needles and uncomfortable feelings of walking beetle legs on top of bare skin.

"Dean! Where are you?"

Sam's voice.

He swears he could hear beating rain or is it just the imagination and lucid figures or maybe it's because of lack of taste and flavour spreading across his lips but Dean doesn't say anything and he suddenly realises that he's holding a gun into his hand and everything hits with a soft bang, what he's supposed to do as he shakily holds the gun upwards and wonders where the hell that demon disappeared to.

Sam's voice is unclear now and Dean's voice is on the target and he tries to concentrate on staying mobile. He crouches down to regain his senses, holding the gun harder into his hand before seeing the pop of colour and quickly shooting - the wave of rock salt, the smash that missed the demon, and Dean struggles to stay conscious.

Sam handles the demon and Dean can almost see everything - like a black and white fuzzy move screen, equipped with pretty little gray dots and lots of dizziness. For some time, all Dean could see is heat and he's sure he could still taste the salt at the fuzzy pinkness of his tongue and nothing's certain until Sam crouches down, grabs onto Dean's arm, and asks - "are you okay? What happened back there?"

He'd run off into the wrong direction when he's thought he'd heard a sound. He remembers thoughts of thinking that maybe Sammy could see through the massive coat and the one-size too big plaid shirt but he doesn't and he remembers that during the hunt, he's constantly thinking of the texture and taste of macaroni and cheese and suddenly wants to be 2 again and throw them out of the Kraft box and just eat it - without a worry about how many calories does each tablespoon contains.

Dean's full of too much pride.

He's a man.

Men don't fantasize about Kraft Macaroni and Cheese - but Dean's mind flashes back to the familiar texture and taste and blue-and-white porcelain plate and he can almost feel the warmth stirring beside him and could almost feel the hot cheese dripping down his lips and he looks at Sam, feeling slightly shaky. "I'm _starving_."

Sam knows that Dean's hypoglycaemic. He nods his head, holding out his hands and pulling Dean up from the ground. Dean's stomach lets out a high-pitched growl and Sam raises his eyebrows as Dean gives his point of desire, "Mac 'n Cheese at Bobby's. How's that sound?"

Then as easily as the word rolls off his tongue, his stomach hits with a pang of pain. He knows that any form of pasta is part of his binge foods. He wants to stay away but his body cries out for it and he knows he'll be depressed later on that night but the 185-pound male doesn't care anymore or is convinced so at the moment.

With shaky boots and the gun safely pocketed, Sam leads Dean back into the Impala where Dean still protests to Sam's handling of his car. The ride is anything but silent, with Dean moaning about how Sam should've let him drive. For the moment, all Dean is fixated on is his bowl of Mac 'n Cheese and holding the fork. His lack of control depresses him. He knows that tomorrow, he'll freak out about every gram he puts on, but right now, his hunger is his instinct and he cannot handle it any longer.

Sam tells Bobby over the phone of Dean's physical state, elaborately stating that Dean looks tired and sick, as if he hadn't eaten in a while. Dean doesn't want to incur to Sam that he hasn't eaten in 5 days and the only sugar he'd gotten is from Pepsi and Coke cans that he keeps in store just in case he feels too drained. He hates that he needs the sugar to keep on moving and he likes how Sam doesn't notice Dean's reluctance to eat something that isn't packaged, so he could just hide the cans and Sam wouldn't notice a thing. Dean wakes up first nowadays, leaves his plate out and leaves on stains of Spaghetti-O's sauce, crumbs of bread, bits of fries and sprinkles of salt and he makes sure to look like he's eaten as he finishes his last sip of his drink.

When arriving there, Dean notices that Bobby's prepared to him an amazing plate of Mac 'n Cheese that has a scent so alluring that Dean just sits down and eats and eats and he knows he shouldn't and in his mind, all he could see is flashing numbers into his mind. How much is he eating? He stares at the plate and all he could visualise is the entire box's calories into his plate as he scarves down his meal effortlessly. He pushes the plate towards the centre of the table and notices that Sam hasn't even finished his plate.

_Fat. Fat. Fat._

That's it. Dean feels himself slipping away as he tells them he'll be right back and he goes upstairs to where he throws off the bags and he shoves various bars down his throat and he can see the calories flashing by just as he picks them up. 180, 145, 178, 218, 178...and his stomach hurts since it's not used to food but all of a sudden, Dean feels like he's eating the capacity for a pregnant female for triplets but it doesn't matter because he's already a fucked up cause anyway.

He sees Sam walking in and continues to eat, but now slower, and had gotten towards the end of a biscuit packet, feeling sick at the end of it. Sam doesn't say a word. That hurts more than any words he could've said in Dean's mind.

That night, Dean arises from his bed and slips downstairs and shoves slices of leftover pizza and garlic bread, just tasting food. He knows he's already fucked up his day and he's probably well over 3,000 calories but he doesn't care and keeps on shovelling pasta salads and pizza, guzzling them down with too much calorific chocolaty milk before returning back to his post, feeling rather sick and the dizziness is mild. He doesn't know why it's still there as his body hit's the bedside, and he's sure he's gained at least 5 pounds.

He wishes he could purge but the reluctance of the food coming out of his throat because of the toothbrush and his fingers suck - he'd stuck in fingers, heaved in, pushed his chest upright, shoved the toothbrush to every flap of skin he could find but still is unable to get past but two tablespoons of whatever he'd eaten and in the past, he still keeps on trying but it does nothing. He's just a useless case.

Before this, on the road, his frequent eating and carelessness had made him gain almost 15 pounds in no time. He weighed at 195 pounds and then gained another 10 from the road, bringing him to 205 and Sam - whom is skinny and perfect, with those lovely shoulders and well spaced out distribution of fat and muscle - weighs in at 180 last time they'd checked. Then the crash diets and insanity began at that point. The 205 pound man that had a BMI of 27...he knew that it might be muscle but his heart hurt whenever he saw the numbers besides…

_It's just a diet._

The hypoglycaemic man tries to convince himself so. _It's just a diet. It'll be over_. It's nothing else but a diet. At 185 pounds, he's considered healthy at 24.4, but he doesn't feel any different than he has at 205. In fact, he just feels worse, and whenever he looks in the mirror, he feels the bloat, he feels every skin cell that makes him obese and he feels morbidly obese - but he knows he isn't. He knows that there's just bloating from his Pepsi cans and he knows that in reality, he doesn't weigh that much but his heart pounds quicker and his chest still tightens and he doesn't care about logic.

He just wants to be thinner.

He fucked that up today with a binge that's enough to feed four of him probably. He sighs softly and curls up into a ball, feeling his stomach pang with strong pain of his consumption and right now, every food looks like crap.

* * *

><p>That morning starts off well.<p>

And then it hits 3:00PM and Dean's chugging down more regular milk sugary crap and eating olive-oil laden pasta, with tons of cheese and sauce and he's out of control. He knows he is. Sam doesn't say anything again. Dean wonders if Sam could see how out of control he is or if this feeling is just a mixture of his emotions and he's the only one that sees how inhuman he is. Bobby and Sam laugh and Dean just shoves down spoonfuls and afterwards, he's still hungry so he makes himself what feels like mountains of bread and cheese and peanut butter. Peanut butter. His binge food. His trigger. As well as bread. He's supposed to stay away from all those carbohydrates and those dairy products and the meat. The meat he's staying off quite well and even the dairy products most of the time - but at every attempt at veganism, his stomach drums a negative response and he craves cheese.

"Dean?"

Sam notices how fat he is - but Dean doesn't stop stuffing in the peanut butter sandwich. Sam is probably wondering why his brother had to be such a fatass and embarrass him so much. Dean tries to tell himself that at least Sam thinks that he's eating now and not starving himself. No, far from starvation. Eating the living shit out of everything that's in the fridge. _Sorry, Bobby, I just finished your entire pint of Ben and Jerry's in 30 minutes. Hope you don't mind. By the way, have another three boxes of Mac 'n Cheese for me to devour? Might as well! I'm just-_

Dean turns around instead and walks away. He doesn't know why but it's an impulse. Last thing he wants to hear it is that he's fat from his brother.

"Dean."

Dean doesn't move and Sam walks over to him and grabs onto his shoulder. "What is up with you these days! I swear…I-"

Dean turns around only to have Sam stare at the grief that is penetrated through his eyes. The sudden guilt rushing through like liquid ice but Sam doesn't say a word and instead lets Dean walk away. Dean goes upstairs and shuts the door and the place is silent once more. Sam says nothing as he looks at Bobby. "Castiel will bring some sense into him." Bobby offers.

Sam nods softly. "He told us he'd come by this afternoon. Apparently, he has a new case for us."

Bobby offers Sam a soft smile.

"That's good. Hey, eat up, okay? I'll go check on Dean in a minute. Let him cool down."

'In a minute' speeds up to hours too quickly before Sam even brings up the courage to walk inside of the room but all he finds is Dean's disappearing luggage, and many wrappers of Maltesers and KitKats onto the bed. Sam's heart races as he slides down, realising the extent of the situation he's in.

"BOBBY! HE'S GONE!"

His voice is hoarse and full of pain. Bobby and Castiel suddenly appear, trying to help Sam collect himself as he screams and shouts and worries, tears nearly running down his face as Castiel provides emotional support, trying to cajole him with words he will not listen. After ten minutes of non-stop agonising screaming, Castiel manages to get Sam to calm down.

"Where would he go?" Bobby asks, offering some sort of consoling gesture to Sam. "He's gonna come back. You're overreacting. And even if he can find a motel to crash by, he's gonna come back."

"Precisely and I will help look for him." Castiel smiles.

Sam still looks troubled. "If you're sure…"

Sam sits down onto the bed, still looking uneasy, and staring at the walls as if suddenly, Dean is going to surge out of nowhere. He waits until they've all disappeared before he holds his head into his hands and tries to breathe in. He can't think clearly and he doesn't think he'll be able to.

"I don't even know what I did wrong…"

* * *

><p>Dean takes another bite out of his mozzarella stick as he adjusts his mirror. He makes sure to look at the time, as if it's going to slip away and he's going to end up there again. He cannot stay there. He's got to be thin to hunt. He's got to be coordinated. And he isn't. Not anymore. The last few hunts proved so. Sam will do well on his own. He feels cowardly, struck with nothing but fear. He doesn't stop for a motel and settles for sleeping in the car, knowing that they'll be searching motels. Under the soft moonlight, Dean shuts his eyes. Then is awakened by a disturbing laugh.<p>

Dean opens his eyes and faces a face. His entire eyes fixated.

"Alastair."

* * *

><p><strong>Love you.<strong>

**Review xxxx**

**WINCESTNESS.**

_**Sam**_


	2. I Can't Live Without You

**:D thanks for my reviews. Here's your update! xxx**

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

* * *

><p>Alastair stares back at him, a smirk highlighting his face. "Going somewhere, Dean?"<p>

"What the hell do you want?" Dean spits out, his voice hoarse and strong as he sits up straight and finally feels the ache in the muscles of his shoulders. He says nothing though and waits for a response.

"Oh, nothing, just decided to pop by for a visit to my favourite," Alastair replies, with mocking innocence as he grabs onto Dean's chin. "How are you, Dean? You notice a change in your womanly hips because of the Maltesers you gorged on yet?"

"Shut up," Dean snaps back.

"Oh, aren't we sweet?" Alastair continues, stepping backwards. "No deals, Dean? You look like you want one…"

Dean's throat is dry.

He stares back at Alastair.

"That's why I'm here, don't you know, Dean? You make it so obvious you're obsessed about your weight, your figure…those stupid digits mean so much to you all of a sudden! Never thought an enemy could use it as your weak point, huh? You're not that dense, Dean…but…at what price are you willing to stretch for this obsession of yours? I'd love to figure that out. Life's full of games that way."

Dean closes his lips firmly, biting his lower lip, tasting flesh.

"Get away from me."

Alastair doesn't move and his eyes flicker towards a green object that sits onto the chair seat beside Dean before he smiles in fake warmth. "Love the dairy. Sure to capture your thoughts as you purge out your entire dinner."

Dean stiffens and watches him move - _no_, he says internally. _I'm too fucked up, and can't make myself throw up. _

* * *

><p>Sam's anxiety is worse day by day.<p>

He wakes up, doesn't see Dean and nearly dissolves into tears. He does nothing though because there's just no use for it. He sits up straight, and shoves past the new emptiness in the room that occupies the space, the loneliness greeting him as he slips in and out of the shower and droplets clinging towards his skin, pitying his mere existence.

_Why did he react so bad?_

He's at the breakfast table all of a sudden, with that bowl of cereal and milk and biting through what feels like food that has no substance. His legs dangle off the edge of his seat and Bobby's biting through a peanut butter sandwich.

He wishes he has enough memory of Dean all of a sudden, sitting there, just eating. He wishes he could remember what Dean would eat and he wishes he could've paid more attention to how he eats. Just something to stare at instead of the empty space and the loneliness.

_What did I say? What did I do…?_

Sam takes a slice of bread, topping it with peanut butter and munches it, in thoughts of Dean.

_What did I do…?_

"Sam?" Bobby's voice cuts into the silence like a sharp knife. Sam stares back, the half-eaten bread still in his hands and a soft and grave expression accommodating his eyes. "We're doing the best we can. I've got no idea where he could possibly go-"

"As well as I."

Sam almost jumps at Castiel's voice flipping through the air and turns around to look at him. Castiel offers him a generous smile but Sam doesn't smile back. He realises that he's clutched the bread too hard, making it soft. He still finishes it off without a single thought.

"Cas! Did you see any sign of him?"

"No."

Sam looks desperate.

"He'll turn up eventually."

* * *

><p><span>days<span>

c_**o**_me and g_**o**_

…

…

…

but I still think of _you__._

* * *

><p>"Sammy."<p>

* * *

><p><em><span>you<span>_ cannot be the one

**that got away**.

* * *

><p>"Dean."<p>

* * *

><p><strong><span>.ohmygod.<span>**

**february**

**march**

**april**

**may**

**june**

**july**

**august**

**september**

**october**

**december **

…it's **december **again and it kills me that there's no

mistletoe

because I want a _kiss _(_and not just a brotherly one, dear brother_)

you said family is _**forever**_.  
>you aren't here now.<br>you aren't _**forever**_

(so it's not forbidden and obscure to _submit to desire_;

i want _you_, dean)

* * *

><p>It's been too long.<p>

Seasonal shifts and soft little snowflake lullabies sing the worst songs ever but each season seems happier than Sam can ever be. The snowflakes sing. Sam breaks the lullaby by breaking the harp with a sword called loneliness and despair. The sun shines but Sam holds up his umbrella of brokenness and agony. These days, Sam feels empty, waking up to a ritualistic routine, almost waiting for the presence of flesh and blood, the artwork the world calls "Dean", to magically appear, occupying the same.

_What the fuck did I do wrong?_

He feels insensitive if he can't see what had caused Dean to just get pushed over the edge that one night and he wishes he can reply it all, see the signs of his grief other than those soft little bluish tips on his fingers and the tiredness on his fatigue frame. He wishes he could've held him and brushed up his hands against him (_sweet brotherly desires_) and he wishes he could hold him -

_in a not so brotherly way. _

Sam doesn't admit his demonic desire to anyone, feels the disturbance in the ecosystem as the thoughts of the sways of those hips and the rose colour of Dean's lips - the fork seems to hit the bottom of the plate too quickly and the food seems warm and stuck in his throat but his stomach feels empty.

He refuses cases.

And Bobby has to do them now and Castiel can't keep up with his angelic wings and his lovely-fucking-halo that cannot somehow bring the presence of Dean. The bitterness speaks loudly, with coherent structures of strong emotive language.

"Sam-"

Bobby stops at the sight of Sam's dishevelled hair, dull and lifeless skin, as Sam flips over a piece of egg on his plate to occupy himself.

"Don't even start with moving on. I can't." (translation: I'm in love with him. I'm a demonic bastard that wants to fuck Dean so hard his ass would hurt. I want to feel his lips against mine. I desire his body and Dean's gone now - and I can't get over it because I'm a whiny, prissy demon-blooded bastard. Happy?)

Bobby blinked. "I wasn't even gonna suggest it." (translation: I was totally going to suggest that.)

Sam stands up, staring at Bobby's eyes with a long stare and he doesn't say a word. He brushes past the tired Castiel. "Cas is needed back in Heaven for something he won't tell 'cause he's a secretive idjit and Sam - Dean wouldn't have wanted you to _stop living _for fuck's sake! Look at you. You look horrible. You look like you don't eat. Your face looks raped by a buncha raccoons and your hair! -"

"Has always been so atrocious." Castiel grinned from ear to ear.

"Fine! I look like shit! So? Looks got nothing to do with it. How I look doesn't even begin to project how I feel. _I'm happy_." Sam stops at those last words. They sound like a myth, a jaded stone of love lost in loneliness.

"You'll do the next case then with Cas when he comes back? The son of a bitch completely did a number on my back…"

Sam's heart lunges out, crying Dean's name but Sam nods his head, trying to appear emotionless and pokerfaced.

"Yes." Sam responds.

Castiel nods. "It has been decided."

Somehow, the world seems to stop turning and Sam ends up crying in his sheets which fabric that cradle him to the early morning colours, which seem to be as gray as his grief. Sam thinks of all the places that Dean can go.

Suddenly, he can picture his glowing face but it seems like he's a fantasy, a celebrity, a fictional character - something just faded in the clouds and dancing among mists of purple and pink and white where they tell frosting-sweet fairytales that promise an ecstatic ending.

Suddenly, Sam is six again, waiting for Dean to skim through one of those old children's books as he finishes off a burger on one side, with those eyebrows drawn into a line that could've been painted on canvas and still called art and those rose-coloured lips quickly moving, like water and waves and all things naturally beautiful.

But the story doesn't end because Dean's lost the book next time Sam wants to read some, as they share their cans of Spaghetti-O's, chains of love as Sam's hand touches Dean's red slimy one.

That night, Sam slides downstairs, opens a packet of Spaghetti-O's and devours it. It doesn't take that good but maybe that's because of the tears that had been heavily flowing out of his eyes. Salt and Spaghetti-O's don't mix and neither do Sam and Dean apparently.

Wiping the red semi-liquid from his lips, nostalgia leaves him feeling empty. His stomach rejects the red concoction.

Red memories are vomited onto the floor.

Every piece farther away than its own. Disappearing, as if a wolf disappearing into the night, leaving nothing behind but the echo of his howl, only to signify his small and unwanted presence.

"Sam, Sam, Sam…"

A shot of a smirk.

Sam stares.

"Dean's disappearance hurting so much? Maybe we can arrange something-something good… how does that sound?"

Sam's eyes are full of desperate colour. Shots of adrenaline pump through. Vessels in his skin tight.

"Yes."

Alastair's smirk simply widens. Luring the fish with the bait. "Did you know…Dean likes to write?"

"What? No," Sam hurries up with a response. His eyes suddenly on the red liquid underneath him. His feet meeting with the slippery floor as he moves closer to Alastair. "What do you propose?"

"Dean used to read fairytales, didn't he? Well, once upon a time, in a land far, far away…a man named Alastair made this fantasy world and in it, there were Dean and Sam and it's just them…a world unlike this world…"

Demons manipulate and twist around words.

"Where is he?" _(translation: I'm taking the deal. I love him. I love him so much it kills me every breath I take.) _

"I'll take you to him." _(translation: you know there's a fucking twist. You're an idiot. Enjoy life in my Hell.)_

Sam's face enlightens.

_(translation: I don't fucking care, as long as I can be near Dean again…)_

* * *

><p><strong>Review my loves! Review fuel me to write xxxx<strong>

_**Sam**  
><em>


End file.
